, 1887-08-14

HlOhlOhb JOu a hCdl III NuOSC ludlll
inns
II REGISTERING BALLADS
of a seaport town in the brave old times
Of 1872, when minister, magistrate and
mariner, emboldened a bit by the warrior
spirit Of the hour and a drop of smuggled
rum brought thither by 1.-THE Spanish
sailors with bearded lips" made the raf-
ters ring with
Consider wen what you're about. and what you
You're now at war with Yankees, and you will
rue the day
That you reused the Sons Of Liberty in North
America
And somehow we forgive them, tipsy
minister, magistrate and all, though the
singers and shouters are never the doors;
for they c0niure up again a real Ameri-
can valor and prowess upon the sea in the
b harmless memory of song.
H RARE L TIME
comes back wildly, too, in the great
square-rigged houses, the homes to-day
OF scores of retired sea captains, shippers
bold who have cruised in all known and
unknown waters; who, when at sea, with
painted ports and monstrous Quaker
guns hastily constructed out of deck-pails
anu ohluo mOullbCu RIluly Ou tue ~
castr deck, gave valiant chase to hover
ing pirates in the Spanish main, and
would have captured and eaten them,
too, if the wind had not ''canted' just
as
THE ovERAwED RAT WAS STRIKING
his black flag; who would never think of
going a-sleighlng without a patent ships
log dragging in the snow to show how
many knots their nags we're making; who
make fast a compass and pinnacle lamp
underneath the seats oftheir road wagons:
who still prefer salt beef and Gods
tongues and sounds to the most savory of
shore viands; who have taught their
Brazilian parrots to call the neighbors
land lubbers;" who now and then yell
to their cooks, Bake me a pan of iron
bound biscuits thatn crack and snap like
gait opsa sheet blocksl' who keep their
old ship c%hronometers by their hunks and
never suddenly
AWAKEN FROM AN AFTER-DINNER DoZE
without singing out, Mate, how's she
headin'?' who cannot sleep comfortably
of nights unless somebody is put ION
watch" to dash water against the house
under the windows; and who, providing
you can demonstrate becoming reverence,
though they are always suspicious of your
decorum, will spin such yarns as will
make you know that the ocean of to-day
is but a mean sort of mill pond beside the
majestic sea of their time, and long for
the fertility of their genius. They are
rare old shippers and brave, sailing over
and over the old courses, snug and tidy
in their home harbor here, but a trifle
timid and unsteady in their reckoning
toward the sailors snug harbor of the
Beyond.
A EAs OF THE SENSES
Nor are the eyes, the sense, the fancy,
ever done with feasting here. Away to
the south and east | can count scores of
the 365 islands of Casco bay behind which
is hid this lovely and historic spot. Part
way to the sea horizon stands Halfway
Rock light with the ceaseless surf thun-
dering against its stout sides. Nearer is
Whitehead p%romontory, set like a hoary
sentinel above Whitehead cove and pas
sage. Almost beneath me are the frown-
ing walls of Forts Preble, Gorges and
Scanned. Over to the northeast lies the
sweet vale of Presumpscot, and, darken-
ing above,
LOOMS BLACKsTRAP MONUMENT.
To the westward still, behind the city,
are The Oaks" "Deering's Woods"
which Lsngfellow dreamed among
when a boy; and, behind these,
to the right and left, are vii
lagos snug as New England thrift can
make them. Of up the seacost, past
grim Portland Head lighthouse, Old
Orchard Beach peeps contentedly from
its beautiful snuggery behind the cove,
and beyond, but seventy-five miles away,
are the dim gables of Salem, where the
first minister ever settled at Portland was
burned for his sweetness and amiability..
while four score miles to the northwest
beyond billowy crests of pines, with their
ghostly peaks piercing the feathery,
blending summer clouds, rise the w hite
mountains.
The eternal hills which once with fervid eyes
The Indian saw within the havening west,
And called the Crystal mountains poetwise,
Dreaming that thitherward lay paradise ~
And it is this ever present presence in
the old seaport tow of the existing seem
ings out of the heart of these brave old
times which puts a fascinating spell and
glamor upon all that is here. Coupled
with what Portland ought to be-a hal
lowed spot for reverence of the memories
OF those who are immortal for what they
have left in American literature-it is a
place for
THE SWEETEST DREAM AND REyERY.
1t is no matter if her own people do not
see and feel this. The immortal are the
worlds and God's-not Portland's exclu-
sively. 1t is enough for her that she gave
the world a Eongfellow, a Willis and a
Fanny Fern. Anyone will tell you that,
down in that old square, h~ip-roofed, rot
ting structure at the corner of Hancock
and Fore streets, where when it was built
the tide crept to the very threshold, on
February 27, 1907, Longfellow first saw
the light. All the people here know
that. They knew it, too, in a ~lugubrious,
deprecating sort OF way, that seizes upon
your interest as
AsTRANGE FREAK;
and they will friendlily tighten your seri-
BUSINESS by any little bit of wit that can be
recalled. Indeed the old building is a
sort of by-word among them, and because
a schoOlmaster once asked his pupils
where Longfellow was born, and a bright
little Irish lad promptly answered: I'm
Patsy Connor's bedroom, sirl'-which
was literally true, as the Conner family